


The Sons of Fundin

by Gerec



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Epic Friendship, Healing, Lost Love, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/pseuds/Gerec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balin and Dwalin understood their Burglar's pain, for of all the Company, they knew best the heart of Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p><i>Bilbo said nothing as Balin pressed the map of the Lonely Mountain into his hands. He gulped, throat tight and sore as he looked upon the worn parchment, and imagined he could still feel the warmth from Thorin’s skin; still smell his scent in the lines of faded ink. He shook his head. “I can’t take this.”</i><br/> <br/><i>Balin smiled, though his eyes were sad. “You can, Bilbo. He’d want you to have it.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sons of Fundin

Of all the members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, it was the Sons of Fundin who would become Bilbo’s greatest friends.

If you had asked Bilbo Baggins in the early days of the quest - as they braved orcs and spiders and a harrowing ride in barrels down raging rapids – whom among the dwarves could he claim the bonds of friendship? He would have answered ‘Bofur’ without a second thought. And Bilbo never forgot the kindness of his first friend in the years that followed; for if Bofur had not stopped him, Bilbo would undoubtedly have left for Rivendell. He would not have continued on the quest, nor would he have come to know and love the dwarves as family. He would not have experienced the happiest moments of his life; nor his greatest sorrows.

And he would never have had the honor and the privilege of truly knowing Thorin Oakenshield.

\---

It was Balin who led Bilbo by the arm, as they followed the procession into Erebor. Balin who stood by his side and wept silent tears as the Sons of Durin were returned to the stone. Bilbo did not think he could have managed it without Balin’s unwavering presence. He watched the proceedings through a haze of disbelief and heartbreak, as Gandalf placed Orcrist in Thorin’s hand and Bard laid the Arkenstone on his chest; the Heart of the Mountain returned to its King, there to rest forever more.

When it was over, Balin led him to a quiet corner away from the others and said, “I have something for you, laddie.”

Bilbo said nothing as Balin pressed the map of the Lonely Mountain into his hands. He gulped, throat tight and sore as he looked upon the worn parchment, and imagined he could still feel the warmth from Thorin’s skin; still smell his scent in the lines of faded ink. He shook his head. “I can’t take this.”

Balin smiled, though his eyes were sad. “You can, Bilbo. He’d want you to have it.”

And though it pained him to take it – for enough cherished things had been taken from Thorin Oakenshield already - Bilbo nodded once and slipped the map inside his coat.

“I will…” he started, though he could find no words to continue. What could he say that would not sound wretched and ungrateful? For there was nothing in all of Erebor that he wanted – not map nor gold nor precious jewels; nothing, saved for Thorin, Fili and Kili to live once more. “Thank you.”

Balin patted him on the shoulder before turning away, leaving Bilbo to compose himself in relative privacy. But he could find no solace here within the Mountain, its return bought with so much blood and pain. He was glad that Thorin’s people had their home once more, though Bilbo could not help but think bitterly that the price was too high.

He saw Bard conversing with the Elven King and made his way over, uncaring of his welcome. But Bard greeted him warmly, if solemnly, and Thranduil gazed on him with eyes filled with understanding.

“I come to bid you farewell,” Bilbo said and neither man looked surprised. “I…I am…”

He struggled to find adequate words, raw and wounded still from the battle and the events preceding. Thranduil stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Master Baggins,” he interjected, “we too will be departing the Mountain soon. Let us escort you on your way.”

Bilbo bowed his head in acceptance, and the Elven King nodded in return, before he headed towards the others in his party. Bard remained standing in place, a frown on his face as he watched Bilbo take a deep breath.

“I am sorry, for how things came to be. I wish to give you…a gift. As a gesture of friendship.”

Bard shook his head. “There is no need for gifts, Master Baggins, for we are friends already.”

“Please, I insist,” Bilbo replied, and reached into his pocket. Bard extended his hand and Bilbo placed the acorn from Beorn’s garden in his palm. “A gift for the people of Laketown,” he said, as Bard looked on with curiosity, “and a promise kept by Erebor’s king. I would have you remember Thorin Oakenshield as he was; loyal and honorable and true. And may it grow mighty and steadfast, to watch over Dale as it prospers once more.”

His voice broke over the last words but he swallowed it down, and Bard was kind enough to ignore it.

“We would be honored,” Bard said, his voice gruff but kind. “Goodbye, Master Baggins. May the Valar speed your journey home.”

Bilbo nodded and tried to smile, but he could manage no more than a ragged sigh. He turned and walked away, head bowed in grief overwhelming until he found the small room with his few belongings and collapsed on the cold stone floor. And there he cried once more, for the King who fought so long and hard to reclaim Erebor but would never again roam its halls. For Fili and Kili who died for a Mountain that had never been their home.

He cried for the Men and Women of Laketown who perished in dragon fire, and for all the lives lost that day against the orcs. But most of all Bilbo cried for himself; for it was only now that he realized the depth of his loss and the feelings he harbored beyond friendship for Thorin Oakenshield.

And though Bilbo could not put into words what Thorin meant to him, Balin seemed to understand. As he made his goodbyes to the Company, Balin’s gaze rested long on their Burglar’s face, his eyes laying Bilbo’s secret bare. Yet he said nothing, and Bilbo was grateful for his discretion, for he could not bear the dwarves’ pity when his losses measured little against their own.

He looked upon the faces of his dwarves with great affection, and said, “If any of you are ever passing Bag End…tea is at four. There is plenty of it. You are welcome any time. Don’t bother knocking.”

Then he turned away at last, and left his heart behind him.


End file.
